Motherhood is me ready to sit down and jot down ideas for this blog post while Gia plays. Motherhood is Gia deciding that this exact same moment is the one when she needs to hold my hand and take me over to her toy bins and pick out each toy one by one and bring each one back to the couch and talk about each one and sing the song that goes with each stuffed animal and then find a book that stars each stuffed animal and then do it again and again and again.
Motherhood is the moment I abandon the idea of writing and give myself whole-heartedly to play time, and she suddenly wants nothing to do with me.
Motherhood is a CONSTANT state of crumbs on the floor, a CONSTANT state of ‘what is that smell?’, and a CONSTANT state of watching your little one come perilously close to walking straight into the sharpest corner that exists.
Motherhood is changing diapers that make you question your life choices.
Motherhood is wishing and praying and hoping for alone time and then wondering why your husband is taking so dang long coming home with that baby of yours. It is practically melting to a puddle when your little one sees you and yells ‘mama!!” when they walk through the door. And ten minutes later remembering thirteen things you meant to do during alone time.
Motherhood is wondering if it is really possible to “miss” the moments of never ending spit up and drool and then realizing you are crying when you fold up the burp rags you don’t need anymore.
Motherhood is swearing up and down that you will NEVER forget how horrible weeks 6-10 and 37-40 of pregnancy were or how soul-crushingly painful childbirth was or how incredibly exhausted you were for the first couple months of newborn life. And then slowly catching yourself thinking things like “maybe it wasn’t THAT bad …” and “maybe I could do it again …” and realizing you have officially lost your mind.
Motherhood is feeling proud of yourself one minute and afraid you are ruining your child’s life the next. I breastfed for an entire year because the AAP said I should, but I let my child watch tv in bed with me for a couple minutes once in a while (ok, like every day. And maybe less like a “couple” minutes and more like 15 minutes), in blatant rebellion against another AAP stance banning TV for children under 2. I read to my daughter every single morning, afternoon, and night, but I cannot forsee a day I will EVER care enough to make my own organic baby food.
Motherhood is saying this line (out loud or in your head): “I can’t wait to get home so I can change OUT OF MY YOGA PANTS (otherwise known as the universal mom uniform because of its comfort) into something MORE comfortable, like sweats.” Which I may or may not have said around 6 weeks post-partum and still occasionally (or always) feel to this day.
Motherhood is one day gazing at your sleeping child wondering how you were so lucky to be blessed with such a perfect angel and the next day bargaining your soul to God if he would PLEASE JUST MAKE MY BABY SLEEP FOR 30 MORE MINUTES. JUST 30 MINUTES, GOD, IS THAT ASKING TOO MUCH??
Motherhood is thinking its adorable how your baby asks for cheese with her cute little accent that makes it sound like “chiz” until you have heard her say it 18 times in a row in rapid succession with increasing intensity ( “chiz… chiz .. chiz. Chiz. Chiz. Chiz! Chiz!! CHIZ!! CHIZ!! CHIZCHIZCHIZCHIZCHIZCHIZCHIZCHIZ!!!!”) when you try to serve her a banana instead. Motherhood is writing that last sentence and then thinking its kind of adorable again, now that its over.
Motherhood is sneaking time to color in your child’s coloring book when nobody else is around, and feeling a little like an addict with all this secrecy and shame but what are you supposed to do now that you FINALLY understand the secret to coloring is not pressing too hard with your crayon? Your child just doesn’t appreciate that picture of Elmo in a tutu like you do.
Motherhood is going to Costco for the first time by yourself with a toddler and feeling like you are now OFFICIALLY a real mom. Because A) isn’t it just so mom of you to be at Costco in the first place? And B) you survived Costco. With a toddler.
Motherhood is complaining about something (like how your daughter is freakishly obsessed with cheese or doesn’t appreciate good coloring or isn’t napping long enough) and then hearing about a baby born 14 weeks early or a baby who didn’t wake up from his nap one afternoon, or a woman who has tried everything in this world to have a baby and still can’t…
Motherhood is realizing that as corny and as cliché as it sounds, being a mom is one of the most miraculous, incredible gifts in the world. Motherhood is knowing that every tear, every moment of frustration, every melt down is worth it. Motherhood is holding that stinky, crabby, expensive, exhausting baby and wondering how on earth you were chosen for such an incredible job.
And then reminding yourself to schedule some alone time. With a cocktail. And a coloring book.